


to be kept waiting

by PrettyYoungThing



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:40:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29396388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyYoungThing/pseuds/PrettyYoungThing
Summary: I have been walking for a long, long time. I do not know when I began, and I do not know when I will reach my destination. I do not know what my destination will be. My feet do not ache.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	to be kept waiting

I have been walking for a long, long time. I do not know when I began, and I do not know when I will reach my destination. I do not know what my destination will be. My feet do not ache. 

Leaves flutter above my head, dappling the path with their shadows, parting for the occasional bird that comes whistling through the trees. They sing their songs, joyous and sweet. My eyes can never quite follow them to the edges of my vision, and I do not know where they disappear to. 

Once, I stop by a stream to drink. The water is cool and sweet and courses down my neck, down the divots of my collarbones. I feel no different than I had minutes before, so I keep walking.

I am not sure where I am, but I know that it is where I am supposed to be. This path, barely trodden, is mine. Every now and then I see the occasional mark by the base of a tree, a crushed bit of reed, but I make no attempt to guess at their origins. I am not much of a tracker, have never much needed to be. There is only one person I have ever wanted to follow. 

I stumble once or twice. My feet catch on the edge of a stone, sending me wheeling downward. I keep myself from sprawling, press my palms flat against the earth, but when I stand there are no scuffs to decorate the skin of my hands.

The air is warm and carries through the gaps between my fingers while I walk. It seems to beckon me onward, telling me to hurry, hurry. I have somewhere to be. My feet begin to move with more purpose; my strides are longer; my lungs clamor for more upon the inhale. 

My destination lies ahead; I am on the cusp of something. I feel it humming underneath my skin, barely contained, singing in my veins. Something races there that did not before. Rather, perhaps it did and I simply failed to notice. Perhaps it has been building into a roaring crescendo since the moment I first stepped onto the path.

I am not moving quickly enough. The trees continue to disappear behind me, but I do not care where they retreat to. I look only ahead, to where I have been told I must go. My impatience grows; there is no end to the path in sight, but I so urgently must reach its end, and soon. I am keeping someone or something waiting.

Finally, I break into a run. The sun's rays cast heat onto my brow but mercifully, no sweat drips into my eyes. Birds chase one another over my head, swooping and flickering in and out of the leaves. Water burbles over rocks in the stream that winds alongside the path, rushing a few paces away from my seemingly infinite dash to the end. The whole world is urging me onward.

And suddenly, it is over. All at once I have reached a clearing that stretches on for what seems like miles, dotted here and there by bushes laden with ripe red berries. To my left, the mild grass fades into coarse white sand. Waves lap quietly at the shore, whispering sweet nothings to the salt. I look to the right, and the entire world comes to a pause.

The first thing I see is his hair. It ripples and dances as he moves, soles of his feet kissing the earth below, eyes bright and trained ahead. He's running, laughing as he goes. His face is unmarred, lips no longer curled into a snarl, fine locks of gold rid of blood and ash. He is beautiful, and he is free. 

It is as if I am seeing him through honey; there is enough time for me to count his breaths with every stride. I can watch his hair flutter in the wind he creates for himself. His tunic, white as the sand, catches the breeze at half the speed it should. He is running, but maybe just this once, I will be quick enough to catch him. He has always run too fast for the world to match his stride.

I begin to run once more, as fast as I possibly can. For him, I will run like the wind itself has given me its blessing. I would chase him for hours across hot coals, battle through a thousand men with but a dagger to my name, follow his shadow to the end of the horizon for so much as one more glimpse of those glimmering emerald eyes. I would bring the world to its knees to feel his smile blossom against my lips again.

My feet beat their rhythmic tattoo into the ground as I pour everything I have into my speed. I will not lose him. I will never let him go, so long as the sun rises in the sky and the moon reflects upon the lull of the tides. I will hold him until the world takes its last breath and even then I will not let go.

By the grace of everything kind and loving, I grow closer to him. His skin and eyes glitter in the sunlight. He is freedom incarnate; he is the breath of life itself. I continue to grow closer, grit my teeth. I will finally be with him once more. It is all I have ever needed, everything I will ever desire, and it is just beyond my fingertips. 

It is not quite enough. He is still quick, and my breaths come harsh and rasping. He cannot elude me, not after I have walked for so long. I will keep him waiting for no more. I may not be as fast as him, but I can still try. 

And so, as my pace whisks me through the grass and dainty flowers press murmurs of encouragement against my shins and ankles, I open my mouth to call for him. If I do not now, I may never be able to again. It has been so long, long enough for me to have nearly forgotten my name, but I will never forget his. 

_"Achilles!"_

He turns, and the world is free of its syrupy glamour. I continue to run as fast as I can, but now he is no longer running. He allows himself to stand still, and I watch as his eyes grow wide with recognition. His mouth parts ever so slightly, the bow of his lips more sweet and rosy than it has ever been. He has been nourished by the sun and housed by the fields, fed by the nectar of the sweet fruits that grow there. 

When the first of his tears begin to fall, I know that I have reached my destination. I am where I have always been meant to be. The droplets roll down the apples of his cheeks, leaving trails that gleam under the glow of his hair. It is as if he is made of spun gold. 

_"Patroclus,"_ he breathes, and it is my first true breath of air. 

We stand in front of one another for a moment before collapsing into each other's arms. I am safe here, and he is as well. There are no wars for us to take part in, no screams of anguish to seep into our ears, no heaps of gold or precious jewels spattered with blood. He will not be taken from me. I will not be taken from him. 

Nobody is here. There are no other travelers along the path that we were made to walk. The fields of sweet berries and tall grass will be our own. We will dine on rabbit and herbs, drink from the clear streams which trace patterns into the earth. In the days we will drift in the lapping tides and in the nights we will build fires around which we can dream together. 

We will love each other until the world ceases to turn, until the gods themselves cast their thrones into the deepest pits of hell. I will live forever through him, and him through me, and nothing in the world could keep us from doing so. Nothing could even try. 

It is Achilles, and me, and the sun, and the three of us have an eternity laid out before us. 

"I have been waiting," he says, quiet and bright.

For the first time in what has been much too long for me to remember, I smile through my tears. "I know. So have I."

**Author's Note:**

> i read this book in literally a day and it hurt me bad enough for me to make a whole playlist and write a comfort fic about it, so that's something. also, there's no way in hell that i could properly emulate the beautiful thing that is her writing, but i hope that i didn't absolutely slaughter it. 
> 
> i love these two a lot. if you bothered to read what i wrote, then i love you too!


End file.
